But, whilst with nicest skill he steers his way,
The guardian Tritons hear their favourite pray.
Hence borne his vows to Neptune's coral dome,
The God relents, and shuts each gulfy tomb.
Thus as on fatal floods to fame I steer,
10
I dread the storm, that ever rattles here;
Nor think enough, that long my yielding soul
Has felt the Muse's soft, but strong, control;
Nor think enough that manly strength and ease,